


American Hunters in London

by S_G_M



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Air travel, Americans, Crossover, Dean has a Fear of Flying, Deaths, Demon Dean, Drama, Fusion, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Mark of Cain, Paranormal, Superwholock, The main three, Winchesters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_G_M/pseuds/S_G_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have had a really rough time of things for the past while, and have finally agreed to take an actual vacation to get away from everything, when a string of deaths at their hotel interrupts their getaway.  Though they had agreed not to work on the trip, a certain consulting detective changes their minds by enticing them to assist him in solving the strangest case he's had to date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first time in their lives, Sam and Dean had decided to take a vacation.

An honest to goodness, real vacation away from it all.

Neither of them could decide on a location, even after long discussions about the proposed trip.

Eventually, after noticing a discount on flights to London while going through numerous websites, they had both decided to just go there.

It didn’t matter where they went, really.  The only point of it was to get away.

After everything that had happened; Dean becoming a demon, becoming human once more, nearly becoming a demon a second time, and then the tribulations of removing the Mark…  Well, both brothers had agreed to get away from it all. 

For real this time.

And so, they had packed their things after arranging the flight details and booking a hotel.

 

They would be leaving the next morning, and Dean was beginning to feel just a hint anxious; he did not enjoy flying in the least.

He hated it, in fact, and being stuck in a plane for 10 hours was not going to be fun.  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“Well, I _did_ suggest going to Vancouver, instead.”  Sam pointed out, after Dean voiced some mild hesitation.

“Yeah, Vancouver.”  Dean stated huffily.  “Sounds like a real blast; Canada’s boring, Sammy.  You know it, and I know it.  Hell, even Canada knows it.”

Sam raised his brows sceptically.

“I thought this was all about taking a break and resting up.”  Sam said, stifling an annoyed sigh.  “Maybe boring is what we need.”

Dean shrugged.

“Well, yeah, it is about taking it easy….  But, _Canada?_   You could’ve done better than that.”  Dean replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “They don’t even know what real bacon is.”

Sam sat down on the couch, putting his stocking feet on the coffee table and patiently taking Dean’s drama with a grain of salt.

“Look, if you really don’t want to go to London, we don’t have to.”  He told Dean, though he had really been looking forward to the trip.

He hadn’t been overly interested at first, but after doing some reading up on the place, there were some neat locations in London that he had definitely wanted to visit.

And, Dean knew it.

Sam waited for a response from his brother, whose face had grown serious.

Dean never could resist caving into Sam, not even now that they were both grown.

“Nah, I’ll deal with it.”  He told Sam, changing his tune.

He’d been enough of a burden the past year or so, he owed Sam, who had ended up saving his ass twice in the past twelve months or so.

“Really?”  Sam asked, wondering what had changed Dean’s mind so suddenly.

Dean nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll, uh…  I’ll just take something to calm me down on the flight.”  He said, not sounding fully convinced that he wanted to go.

“You don’t have to, Dean, it’s fine.  Seriously.”  Sam assured him, beginning to regret ever suggesting that they go away for a while.

“I said I’ll go.”  Dean said stubbornly, his voice a little bit gruff as he turned away with a yawn.  “I’m gonna go to bed…  I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sam frowned.

“Okay.  Good-night.”  He replied, not sure how to feel about all of this.

“Night.”  Dean returned as he walked away.

 

 

The next morning came too quickly for Dean, but he dealt with it and after breakfast they headed to the airport.

Soon afterwards, they had boarded the aircraft, with Dean looking a touch nervous.

Normally, Sam would have found it amusing, but with everything that they’d been going through lately, he just wanted Dean to be able to relax.

They were both fried from all of the events that had occurred lately, and Sam couldn’t imagine just what Dean had gone through.

After all, Dean was still adjusting; he was not quite yet back to his normal self, and they had both been wondering if he ever would be.

 

 

The flight had been a very long, hopelessly dull one.  By the end of it, they were both happy to be able to finally get off the plane and really stretch their legs.

Especially Sam, whose long legs had been bunched up against the seat in front of him the entire time.

 

The first thing that they did, was get to their hotel on Park Avenue.

It wasn’t a very big room, but it _was_ nice.  Definitely better than most of the run-down fleapits that they’d stayed in in the past.

Dean lay down on his bed, looking at the cream coloured walls and feeling pretty jet-lagged.

It wasn’t long before he fell asleep, and Sam decided to lay down on his own bed and read for a bit.

He had slept on the flight, whereas Dean couldn’t, and so while he was a bit tired, he wasn’t nearly as exhausted as Dean was.

As he read, he felt something…

He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was the distinct air of a presence within the room.

A fleeting one, but it was definitely there…

Then again, maybe he was just tired and had imagined it.

Sam concentrated on his book.   He was there to rest, that was all.

Even if there was something, well, supernatural, going on, someone else could deal with it.

For once, they were going to take a well-deserved break.

Still, Sam couldn’t shake it.

He had been trained from little on to deal with such things, and to choose to actually ignore anything like this wasn’t something he’d ever done before.

Like Dean, he’d always given in and gotten involved.

Sam sighed.

He hoped that it had just been his tired mind creating things, as he closed his book and tried for a nap.

Sam was more tired than he’d thought, and he fell into slumber within ten minutes.

 

 

When he awoke, the room was unoccupied but for himself.

Dean had left a note by the phone, explaining that he’d gone for a walk and would be back soon.

It was nearly an hour before Dean had come back, take-out in hand.

“Brought you a little something.”  Dean told him, passing a greasy newspaper filled with food.

Sam nodded his thanks, taking and opening it to reveal a battered piece of fish and some fries.

He couldn’t help but think about the ink and the chemicals that must have leached into the meal.

It just didn’t seem like a good idea.

Still, he took a fry and popped it into his mouth, as Dean opened up a white Styrofoam container and began eating a slice of peach pie, sitting down on the bed and looking over to Sam thoughtfully.

“Apparently, there’s been a couple of murders here over the past week and a half.”  Dean announced, as though it were just a bit of trivial news mentioned to simply break the silence.

“Huh.  What happened?”  Sam asked, feeling curious.  He had a hunch that it was related to what he’d felt earlier, but kept that to himself.

Dean chipmunked his food, sticking it into his cheeks, before answering. 

“They just dropped dead.”  He said, before swallowing.  “No significant cause of death in either one.  They were healthy, too.” 

Sam blinked.

‘Great.’  He thought, not liking where this was headed.

“Look, if this is what it seems to be, we’re going to leave it for someone else.”  Sam said, noting the look on Dean’s face.  “Right?”

Dean cleared his throat.  “Yeah, of course…”  He began agreeably, taking another bite. 

“Good.”  Sam stated, tucking his shaggy hair behind his ears.

It was getting a little long; maybe he ought to get a haircut while he was thinking about t.

“I’m going out for a while, check things out in the neighbourhood.”  Sam announced, putting his footwear on.

“Mind if I come with?”  Dean asked, finishing his pie.

Sam shrugged.  “Sure, why not?”  He replied.

 

They wandered throughout Westminster, enjoying the change of pace.

They didn’t talk much, but each enjoyed the other’s company.

 

As they passed a barber shop, Sam stopped.

Dean raised his eyebrows, as Sam headed inside.

Dean couldn’t recall the last time Sam had gotten an actual haircut.

Sure, once in a while he’d trim the ends himself, but otherwise…

“So, what, you’re suddenly tired of looking like a hippie?”  Dean joked, as Sam walked up to the counter.

“I don’t know…  I just need to do something different, y’know?”  Sam said, not sure why he felt the impulsive need to cut his precious locks.

 

As he sat in the chair, the barber skilfully taking off inches of Sam’s almost regal mane, Dean watched.

It was weird.

Sam had chosen to go short.  Like, _short_ short.

The last time Dean had seen Sam with such a hairstyle, they’d both been kids.

“Wow, you _really_ meant different, huh?”  Dean asked, a little weirded out.

Sam cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror in front of him.

This was a pretty big change, but Sam felt fairly good about it.

There was that little nagging doubt in the back of his mind saying that it was a bad idea, but he tried to ignore it.

“It’s only hair, Dean.”  Sam told him, partially telling that to himself.

Dean shrugged.

“I guess.”  He said, causing Sam to question his decision.

The barber readjusted Sam’s head, cleaning up his hairline at the nape of his neck.

 

 

“It’s not that bad, Sammy.”  Dean told him, still staring a bit, as they walked out the door. 

Sam ran a hand over the stubbly hair that was left.

“I’m cold.”  He complained, making his brother chuckle.

“You’ll get used to it.”  Dean said with a grin, reaching up and rubbing Sam’s head playfully.

Sam wasn’t too sure about that.  He missed his hair already, but it did feel good to have it gone.

He was torn.

“It looks good, though, for real.”  Dean said, thinking that the style and length made Sam look more dignified.

Sam didn’t look altogether convinced, but smiled.  “Thanks.”  He said, not enjoying the chilly breeze playing over his scalp.

 

Just as they rounded the corner leading to their hotel, they noticed police cars with flashing lights parked outside, along with two ambulances.

They walked more swiftly, reaching the scene within a couple of minutes.

Not hearing anything that important, they headed inside, nearly being pushed out of the way by a tall, pale man in a long, dark jacket being followed by a shorter, stockier man with greying hair.

“Sorry.”  The shorter man apologised, as Sam nearly stumbled off of the stairs as a result of the first man’s rushing past them from behind, and into the hotel.

Dean watched them for a moment, before following them at a distance with his brother.

The boys tailed them to the sixteenth floor, to a room where two young women lay dead on their beds, looking incredibly peaceful.

After listening for a few minutes, a gruff voice behind them asked “Can I help you with something?” 

They turned around to see a silver haired cop, looking solemnly at them.

“Uh, no, we’re just passing by.”  Dean lied.

It wasn’t as though he could have pulled out his FBI badge and get the information he wanted, though he had nearly just tried to do that out of habit.

The man that had almost made Sam topple over outside straightened up from perusing the brunette girl's body.

“You followed me up here in order to view the bodies for yourselves; why?”  He asked, glancing over to them with a piercing gaze, before looking around the room.

“Curiosity.”  Dean answered vaguely, not seeing the point in denying that they had followed him up here.

“Obviously.”  Came the man‘s deep voice, as he walked over, scrutinising them.

“I’m going to have to ask you both to leave as this _is_ a crime scene.  The floor’s been evacuated and cordoned off; I’ll escort you to your rooms.”  The detective informed them, preparing to remove the boys.

“No, they might be useful.”  The curly haired man interjected thoughtfully.

“Sherlock, they’ve got to go; I can’t have them up here, they could jeopardise the crime scene and besides it’s against protocol.”  The D.I. told him stubbornly, crossing his arms.

“I am aware of that, Lestrade.”  Sherlock replied, not really caring about that, ignoring the man all but completely. 

“You’re familiar with crime scenes, I’m sure that you’ll take the proper measures to ensure this one's preservation.”  He told them, as Lestrade watched them unhappily.

Sam frowned deeply.  “How did you know that?”  He asked inquisitively, caught off-guard by the statement.

“I could have easily confirmed that by your manner alone.”  Sherlock said tonelessly.  “Now, what do you see?”

“A couple of beds, a lamp, dead chicks…”  Dean listed half-jokingly, being less than fully cooperative.

He really didn’t like this guy.

He was arrogant, cold, and seemed to know much more about them than was comfortable.

“Clearly.  Aside from that, what do you see?”  Sherlock asked them.

He knew that the Winchesters made a living by either acting as though they solved paranormal issues, or actually were capable of such.

Sherlock had never come across a case where there was no apparent cause of death, let alone multiple cases with the same result.

It was plausible that something out of the ordinary, something that he couldn’t explain, had been taking place at this hotel.

Not that he was certain that he believed in such tripe, but once perhaps every blue moon, he turned out to be wrong about something.

The Winchesters looked around, not noticing anything out of the ordinary.

Sam remembered that feeling from earlier, and it had shown on his face.

“What is it?”  Sherlock asked him, watching him closely.

Sam blinked.

This guy was really not the most comfortable person to be around.

“Nothing.”  He lied, wanting to put some space between them and this intense man who seemed to be capable of reading their minds.

Sam didn’t think anything positive would come of this encounter.

“Look, my brother and I have had a long day, we’re jetlagged, and we should be heading to our room.”  He said, beginning to turn away.

Lestrade frowned.  Something wasn’t quite right here.

“You’re suddenly in a hurry to leave, now that questions have been asked.”  He said in a suspicious tone, looking at them authoritatively.  “I think maybe you ought to stay a while longer, until you’ve answered a few more questions for us.”

Sherlock looked vaguely interested.

“Lestrade, if you would excuse us for a few moments.”  He said, and the D.I. obligingly stepped away, giving them some space.

Sherlock took a step closer to the brothers, as John, the shorter man, watched curiously from a distance.

“You are what some would dub ‘paranormal experts’.  I believe that there is a chance, however small that may be, that something of the supernatural nature may have occurred tonight.”  Sherlock told them, and Dean couldn’t help but become intrigued.  “I would like to ask for your assistance in this case.”

“You don’t seem the type to believe in that sort of thing.”  He pointed out, and Sherlock agreed.

“I’m not; yet, as I have been known to be incorrect from time to time, and considering the increasingly bizarre circumstances surrounding the victims at this hotel, perhaps this will turn out to be one of those occurrences where my assumptions have been incorrect.”  Sherlock told them, sounding very pompous to the boys.

Sam turned to his brother.

“We agreed not to work for a while.”  He reminded Dean, who nodded.

“I know, I know…  But, come on, Sammy.”  Dean told his brother with a hint of pleading in his voice.  “This should be good; something that kills like this, it’s different than what we’ve seen before.”

Sam sighed.

“You’ll be reimbursed for your time, of course, if that has any sway on your final decision on the matter.”  Sherlock cut in, knowing that the offer of monetary payment would sweeten the deal for them.

Sam _was_ feeling that urge to get involved, just as much as Dean was…

“Fine, one case.  But, that’s it.”  Sam said firmly.  “After that, it’s R&R, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

Dean nodded, kind of liking Sam taking charge.

“Agreed.”  He said to Sam, who nodded back.

“Then it’s settled.”  He said, looking over to Sherlock, who gave them each a card.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next couple of hours, Dean, Sam, Sherlock, and John, scoured the site and looked over the security recordings.

But, there really didn’t seem to be very much of anything to go on.

There was no trace of evidence that could ever link someone to the crime, and the CCTV footage showed nothing out of the ordinary.

The bodies, just as Sherlock had described, were clean.

“Maybe the murderer used some kind of non-traceable poison on ‘em.”  Dean piped up, rubbing his eyes.

Sherlock disagreed.

“There are exceedingly few poisons which cannot be detected within a body, if utilising the proper techniques.”  He pointed out validly, a dark curl falling onto his forehead.  “Besides, any poison administered would have caused a reaction within the body for the victim to die, and these people have no evident cause of death.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  Sherlock’s manner and speech were really getting on his nerves.

Sherlock didn’t care in the slightest.

Sam was thinking over everything that they’d learned about this case as he leaned against the wall.

“There’s no link between these people?”  He asked, and John shook his head.

“No.”  He replied, hands in his green jacket pocket. 

There was silence for a moment, as they all ruminated upon the situation.

“Um, exactly what is it that you do, by the way?”  John asked, trying to be polite, and curious from not having been told or hearing enough from the earlier conversation to know.

“We’re hunters.”  Sam answered simply, blowing out a breath.  He was getting hungry, and was definitely tired.

John nodded.  “Right, so how did you get into this ‘supernatural’ stuff, then?  Just a hobby?”  He asked, as Sam went to run a hand through his hair before remembering that his long locks were no longer there.

“No, uh, we hunt monsters.”  Sam explained, and John looked highly sceptical.

He thought the whole idea of bringing these strange Americans into things was an odd move on Sherlock’s part, and couldn’t understand why he was acting as though he believed them at all.

Did Sherlock think that there was a link between them and these murders?

If so, why was he going along with their silly nonsense?

“Mmm.”  John intoned, regretting bringing up the topic.

“No, they’re telling the truth, John.”  Sherlock told him, having heard of hunters before.  “Or, at least they believe that they are.”

Not that he’d ever taken much stock in the idea of such self-dubbed ‘hunters’.

He’d written it off as a cult, a group of people with the same bizarre notion that they exterminated a variety of so-called monsters.

He thought it was just as likely that such people had been killing other humans under the sick notion that they were doing a service in destroying dangerous faerie tale creatures.

“Look, if you don’t believe us, that’s fine.”  Dean said to the Brits, looking annoyed.  “But, don’t waste our time with this crap if you’re just screwing with us.”

John turned to Sherlock.

“Why did you bring them in, anyway?”  He asked, getting fed up.

“Because, I feel that it is entirely plausible that they may be able to aid us in locating the killer.”  Sherlock said, the CCTV footage playing on an endless loop behind him on seven black and white monitors.

Dean’s eyes travelled over the second one in on the bottom row of screens, noticing something amiss that he hadn’t caught the first couple of times.

He moved over to the controls, and rewound back to the image that had flagged his attention moments ago.

“There, Sammy.”  He said, pointing at the screen as he hit pause.

Sam came over, leaning in and seeing it.

“What is it?”  John asked, as Sherlock joined the brothers, blocking John’s view entirely.

“Demons.”  Dean answered, staring at the two men with obsidian-coloured eyes.

John scoffed, as Sherlock simply listened.

Sam moved so that John could look.

“’Demons.’”  John repeated incredulously, wondering what the hell was going through Sherlock’s mind.

“Yeah, black eyes like that, definitely demons.”  Sam interjected, trying to keep a fight from breaking out.

Dean didn’t seem to like either of these people that much, and the feeling appeared to be mutual.

 The situation could easily escalate if they weren’t careful.

“Contact lenses.”  John stated dismissively, and Dean rewound a bit further in slow motion.

As he did, the black eyes transformed into regular ones.

John blinked.

“Okay, that’s weird.”  He said in disbelief, unable to explain what he’d just seen.

Sherlock knew that there was no way that the footage had been tampered with.

“What are these beings capable of?”  Sherlock inquired, wondering if he and John were finally out of their own depth.

“Possession, electrokinesis, telekinesis, spell-casting…  Some of them are capable of a hell of a lot worse.”  Dean answered, knowing that whatever demon or demons had killed the two women from earlier was different than others they’d run across.

Demons tend to like creating bloody murder, not something subtle like this…

Still, it was undoubtedly quite powerful to be able to pull something like that off so well.

Sherlock nodded grimly.

“I see.”  He stated, not liking that he didn’t know about any of this.

He would have to read up and learn all that he could in order to be of some use in this case.

There was no way that he was going to be taking orders from these ragamuffin rednecks unless he absolutely had to.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

After speaking for a while longer with them, the consulting detective and his partner disembarked, and the Winchesters headed to their room as Lestrade viewed them with a hint of suspicion written on his face.

 

Back in their room, Sam and Dean took a moment to just breathe.

It wasn’t as though the case had been particularly exhausting; the men that they’d chosen to work with, however, were. 

Especially that consulting detective, with his grating attitude and skillset that made him nigh impossible to deal with.

Still, they would be getting paid, and the case _was_ interesting enough to possibly make putting up with the Brits worth the trouble.

“That Holmes guy is going to be a major pain in the ass; you know that, don’t you, Sam?”  Dean asked his brother, shaking his head.  “You can tell he thinks he’s so superior, like he doesn’t have to listen to anybody.  That’s going to be a problem.”

Sam agreed.

“We’ll just have to work something out.”  He said, wondering what they’d gotten themselves into this time.  “It’s not like they know what they’re dealing with, so they’re going to have to listen to us.”

Dean scoffed.

“That pompous douchebag isn’t going to listen to squat; look at how he ordered around that cop.”  He pointed out, wishing that they could work this on their own.

But, Holmes and Watson had both insisted on being a part of the investigation, and since they had law enforcement on their side, and Sam and Dean had no sway., they were going to have to just suck it up this time.

Sam sighed.

“I know.”  He admitted, laying down on his bed and gazing up at the spackled ceiling.

Dean grabbed a miniature bottle of vodka from the mini-fridge in the kitchenette and cracked it open.

He downed its contents in one go, refilling the little bottle with tap water and fixing the cap so that it looked untouched, before placing it back in the fridge exactly as he’d found it.

“Maybe we should just leave it to him; after all, he seems to know everything.”  He said crankily, though he didn’t really mean it.

After three hours of being around those two, Dean was in a foul mood.

It was bringing out his bad side, and Sam was worried.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”  He told Dean amiably, finding patterns on the spackling.

Dean pressed his lips together unhappily.

“Yeah, but then they get to keep the case while we wander around London town with our thumbs up our butts.”  Dean groused, sitting down heavily on his bed, slipping his shoes off with his feet.

“We _did_ come here to rest up, not go hunting demons, anyway, Dean.”  Sam reminded him again in a patient tone.

“I know, I get it already.”  Dean replied in irritation, glancing at his watch, which was still set for back home.

He rubbed his eyes, before looking over to the hotel clock that sat on the bedside bureau and reset his watch to the current time, which was a little after ten at night.

“But, you’re still willing to put up with those guys, despite how much you don’t like them, so that we can bag these demons, aren’t you?”  Sam asked knowingly.

Dean scoffed.

“I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess.”  He replied, laying down and crossing his slightly bowed legs.

Sam didn’t like the idea of continuing on with the case.

“Look, I know you want to keep going, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”  Sam told him, thinking that he ought to keep his mouth shut about it, but needing to tell Dean.

“Yeah, and why’s that?”  Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Sam hesitated momentarily.

“Because, I can see all that rage from before creeping up in you, and we both know what’s happened in the past.”  Sam admitted, worrying about his brother.  “Even though the mark’s gone, you’re still readjusting.  Who knows how much residual evil is left inside you, Dean.”

“You’re worried I’m going to snap and kill one of them, is that it?”  Dean asked a little pointedly. 

Sam faltered.

“I’m more or less thinking that you might seriously beat the crap out of one or even both of them, depending on how much they piss you off.”  Sam told him honestly.  “Though, considering how angry you were getting earlier, maybe there’s a chance that you could kill if you went all hulk like before.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sammy, that’s just not going to happen.”  He argued stubbornly, though he knew that Sam might be right.

He had felt that familiar dark hostility, that thinly veiled violence, creeping up from his core when he’d been dealing with Holmes and Watson.

“The mark is gone, I’m 100% human, and I’m good.”  He tried to reassure Sam, who didn’t believe that last bit of his statement.

“If you were good, we wouldn’t need to be taking a break.”  Sam reminded him, and Dean couldn’t argue with that.

“I need this, Sam.”  Dean said, a little more softly than before.  “I’ve got to work things out, I know, but just one more case and I’ll take it easy.”

“Right.”  Sam said flatly.

Dean was an addict. 

Liquor, danger, women…  Dean had a lot of trouble going without his vices, and he always went back to them sooner or later with no exceptions.

“Right.”  Sam replied flatly.

“I promise.”  Dean swore, looking entirely solemn.

He meant it.  It wouldn’t be easy, but he would do his best not to break his promise.

Sam closed his eyes and got more comfortable.

“Sure, Dean.”  He said dismissively, getting ready to go to sleep.

Dean swallowed, and turned out the lamp, before trying to fall asleep himself.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

The next morning over breakfast, there was very little conversation.

Dean felt bad, because he’d been a major pain in the ass lately, and it seemed like nothing he was doing was helping things in the least.

When they had both nearly finished eating, Dean couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“Look, if you don’t think we should go after these demons, then let’s forget about it.”  Dean piped up, causing Sam to look up from the table.

It wasn’t worth it if it was going to put a wedge between them.  They had been growing apart as it was, the last thing they needed was something to fight about.

Sam shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter to me.”  He said untruthfully, trying to sound as though he didn’t care.

“It did last night.”  Dean maintained in response, wondering why Sam was being like this.

He was trying to agreeable here, and Sam was just making things difficult.

Sam stayed quiet, which Dean didn’t like.

“I don’t want to fight, Sammy.”  Dean told his brother sincerely, setting the spoon that he’d been using to eat his cereal down on the table.  “If you don’t want to work on the case, we can just find someone else to take it.  I’m sure someone back home has connections over here.”

Sam let out a breath.

They were each struggling to make the other happy, but in that, they seemed to be making it all worse.

Sam wondered if he should just step back and let Dean do what he wanted to.

He would in the end, anyway.

“How about this?”  Sam began thoughtfully.  “We continue with the case, but if you start getting all dark and angry, we end it.”

Dean considered this.

“Yeah, all right.”  He agreed, crossing his arms.  “But, just because I don’t like Mr. Prissy and it shows, that doesn’t mean that I can’t handle myself.”

Sam chuckled.

“Fair enough.”  He said with a small smile.  “That guy _is_ a piece of work.  Still, keep the attitude to a minimum, huh?  I could see _it_ coming to the surface last night.”

Dean cleared his throat.  He knew it was true, and he wouldn’t deny that.

“I don’t know; try anger management techniques or something.”  Sam suggested, having thought of telling that to Dean in the past, but thinking better of it. 

Dean gave Sam a tired look.

“Yeah, I can manage, thanks.”  He stated with a hint of offense.

Just as Sam was about to reply, Dean’s text alert sounded, before there came a sharp knock at the door.

Dean checked his phone, as Sam looked through the peephole.

‘Another murder, this one outside hotel property.  Have sent a ride for you both.  –SH’

Dean began relaying the message to Sam, who opened the door for the visitor.

“Can I help you?”  He asked a thin man who showed his I.D.

“I’m supposed to relay you boys to the crime scene.”  Anderson of forensics told them.

Dean looked unimpressed with Sherlock’s failure to give them fair warning.

He was still only in his pyjama bottoms, as Anderson told them that he’d wait outside in the corridor for them.

The boys got dressed and were soon being driven to the scene.

 

 

“Do you honestly believe that there are demons, Sherlock?”  John asked, taking a quick look at Sherlock’s firm arse as he was bent over the victim.  “And, if there are demons, then why would they be striking down people at random here in London?”

Sherlock noticed a short, blonde human hair which did not belong to the victim clinging to her jacket lapel.

He took out his tweezers and placed it carefully into a plastic bag, sealing it and then standing back up.

“You saw the video as clear as I.”  Sherlock said in answer, pocketing the bag.  “As asinine as it may seem, it would appear that the Americans may be telling the truth.”

John raised his arms into the air in a frustrated gesture.

“Seriously?”  He asked in incredulity.  “Remember the Baskerville case, where you ‘saw’ the hound yourself?  Don’t you think that there’s a more reasonable answer to all this than bloody demons?”

Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed.  “That was different.”  He objected, as a familiar car pulled up and out popped the Winchesters and Anderson.

“Oh, entirely.”  John told him with a hint of snark, as the newcomers approached.

 

Other than the hair that Sherlock had found, and nothing else had been located.

At the morgue, the initial examination proved fruitless.

Molly, the attendant that Sherlock preferred to work with, had vainly scrutinised the body along with Sherlock.

After the body had been examined, Sherlock worked on identifying who the hair belonged to.

It hadn’t been possible to get an I.D. on either man simply from the footage they’d seen, and so this hair could be an important lead.

“I’ve never seen Sherlock work with anyone else like this, other than with John, of course.”  Molly said in her customarily friendly tone, after Sherlock had briefly left the room with John.  “He must have taken a bit of a shine to you.”

Sam gave a small laugh.  “Uh, no, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like us.  Especially not my brother.”  He told her, and Dean voiced his agreeance.

Molly smiled at them.

“That’s just Sherlock, he’s often like that.”  Molly explained, zipping the body bag up.  “Don’t take it too personally.”

“So, he’s just always an asshole, then.”  Dean stated, earning himself a bit of a dirty look from the pretty morgue attendant.

“I wouldn’t say that.”  Molly replied patiently, as Sherlock returned into the room with some papers in his hand. 

He walked brusquely over, John joining his side.  “I’ve identified the shorter man from the footage; his name is Martin Flugelman and his address is in Whitechapel.”

John glanced over the papers that Sherlock passed to him.

“Right, so let’s get going.”  Dean said, stretching his back.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Just as they were about to all share a cab over, a strange man wearing clothing more suited to a man at least twice his age came up to them.

“Dean, we need to talk…”  The man said urgently, and Dean frowned in confusion.

“Excuse me?”  Dean asked in a tone tinged with rudeness, as the stranger looked a touch bemused.

“We need to talk.”  The man repeated a little strangely, waiting for Dean to come with him.  “Sam, too.”

Dean stood his ground, Sam coming up to join his side, as Holmes and Watson got into the car and waited.

“Look, buddy, I don’t know who you are or how you know our names, but I think maybe you ought to move along.”  Dean said warningly, as a taller man wearing a navy blue trench coat came over with a ginger haired woman.

The trench coated man leaned over, and quietly spoke to the man, and a look of sudden understanding came over his face.

“Oh…”  Came the odd man’s response, sounding a bit put out.  “Sorry, my mistake, I’ve undershot the date.  I do that sometimes.”  He said, as though that put it all into perspective.

The brothers exchanged confused glances.

“Maybe I ought to leave you to it, but I would think about enlisting my help if I were you.  I think you’ll find me quite valuable.”  The man said, piquing some interest despite his outlandishness.  “I’m The Doctor, by the way, since we haven’t met yet.  Well, _now_ we have, but anyways…”

“Uh-huh.”  Dean grunted, letting the man go on.

He gestured to the handsome man beside him.  “And, this is Captain Jack Harkness, a good friend of mine.”

He then gestured to the blue-eyed woman, who was standing beside Jack.  “And, this is my companion, Donna Noble.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s great and all, but would you mind getting to the point?”  Dean asked, getting tired of this.  “I do have things to do today.”

“Oi, you’re rude, aren’t you?”  Donna asked him, scowling lightly.

“That’s just his personality.”  The Doctor told her softly, out of earshot of the brothers.

“I can appreciate that, Dean; however you have no idea what you’re up against this time.”  The Doctor told him sombrely, adjusting his red bow tie.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know _exactly_ what we’re up against; we’ve managed crap like this countless times, and I doubt this is going to be any different.”  Dean replied, looking to his brother.  “Come on, Sammy.”

With that, the brothers turned and left, leaving the trio behind, not realising that the strangers had hailed a cab and would follow them the entire way.

 

 

The ride over had been a bit tense, and only a few words had been exchanged.

Despite John’s brief attempts to be polite, regardless of the way he felt towards them, the atmosphere had been rather ominously cold.

“Okay, uh, when we get there, I think you should follow our lead; there’s no telling how things are going to play out, and you’ll be safer that way.”  Sam spoke up, feeling somewhat awkward.

“I did quite an amount of research last night, and feel confident that I can handle my own.”  Sherlock responded, earning himself a scoff from Dean. 

Sherlock has spent hours poring over numerous articles and guides, filtering out the obviously fake ones, and studiously took in the more legitimate information.

“I don’t care how much reading up you did, actually coming up against a demon and walking away from it isn’t something you learn from a freakin’ book.”  He said in a low tone, shaking his head.  “We’ve been doing this kind of stuff our whole lives, we know how things work.  It’ll be better if we take the lead.”

Sherlock gave him an icy gaze.

“Perhaps.”  He said tonelessly, as John stayed out of it.  “However, you would do well to remember that you _were_ hired on, and therefore you hold no sway whatsoever over the direction in which this case may go, or of the orders which are heeded.”

Dean was about to say something, when Sam gave him a look, at which point he thought better of it.

He didn’t need any more scolding from Sam.

“Yeah, whatever.”  Dean mumbled, looking out the window and trying not to think of how good it would feel to punch this douchebag.

Sam felt a bit of worry crop up.

Dean was always so angry lately, even without the Mark…

 

 

After reaching the address and getting out of the cab, Sam noticed the taxi that had followed them there.

“Seriously?”  Dean asked, after Sam had punched his arm in order to get his attention.

Holmes and Watson stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the Winchesters to hurry up.

“Are you coming or not?”  Sherlock inquired, looking impatient.

“Yeah, we’ll be right with you.”  Sam replied, stalling.  “We’ve just got to take care of something real quick.”

John nodded, noticing the trio heading towards the Winchesters.  “Right.”  He said, and he and Sherlock walked a short ways down the path to the house to give them some space.

“What the hell are you doing?”  Dean demanded, as the group approached them.

“I knew you wouldn’t like this, but it was necessary; without my help none of you will walk out of that house.”  The Doctor told him gravely, pointing at the tall, white home.  “What you’re after are no ordinary demons, and no ordinary hunters will be able to put a stop to their slaughtering.”

Neither Winchester knew what to make of this man and his words.

He seemed completely nuts, but he knew too much about things for it to be a fluke.

“Oh, really?”  Dean asked, almost amused.  “Then, what is it, exactly?”

Sam had a feeling that they really ought to listen to whatever this guy had to say.

“Look, Dean, I think we should take him more seriously.”  Sam told his brother, going with his gut.  “He knows about us and what we’re doing... He seems pretty genuinely concerned.”

“That would be a good idea.”  Jack interjected, taking a step forward.  “Unless you’re prepared to die in order to find out he was telling the truth.”

Dean cleared his throat.

“Fine.”  He replied resignedly, raising his arms in a shrug and letting them drop to his sides.  “Tell us what you tailed us here to say.”

The Doctor looked from them to the property, and back again.

“That house is not what it appears to be; it is, in fact, a transmitting station.”  He explained carefully.  “You see, the creature that you are currently hunting is a dangerous hybrid; half-demon, half-Abaljerratanian.”

Sam looked confused, but continued to listen as Holmes and Watson watched them in a bored fashion.

“Half-alien.”  The Doctor added, trying to clear up any confusion.

“Yeah?”  Dean asked, thinking that it was utter nonsense.

“Yeah.”  Donna told him, crossing her arms.

“Yes.”  The Doctor confirmed.  “They choose a victim, usually quite young, often a teenager or child, and rip the soul painfully from their body.  They bring the souls back here, and transmit them to Abaljerratan to use in order to keep their leader alive.”

“That’s a nice story.”  Dean said, feeling as though his valuable time was being wasted by an idiot.  “But, it sounds like complete B.S. to me.”

“Oh, it’s not just a story; it’s true.  And, without my help…”  The Doctor trailed off, looking even more serious now.  “Unless we work together, the human race will cease to exist.”

“And, why’s that?”  Sam asked, genuinely curious now.

He wasn’t sure whether or not he believed the strange tale, but knew that the emotion in those words were real enough.

He supposed that there was a chance that maybe aliens did exist.  After all, they’d seen some pretty bizarre things that most people didn’t believe in, so why shouldn’t aliens be real?

Maybe this guy knew exactly what he was talking about…

“Because, _you_ know demons, and _I_ know all about aliens.”  He answered.  “I’m afraid that I lack any sort of actual skill when it comes to demons, which is why I am unable to take care of the problem myself, which is why I found you both.”

“Okay, say that’s all true.  Why come to Sam and I?  There’ve got to be other hunters in the area, why us?”  Dean asked, gesturing to himself and Sam.

“Because, we’re friends.”  The Doctor answered plainly, before correcting himself.  “ _Will_ be friends, actually.  We haven’t met yet.  Or, well, technically we just _did_ , but…”

“Sorry I asked.”  Dean replied, cutting him off.  “It’s obvious enough we aren’t going to shake you, so if you’ve got to come along, you may as well come with us instead of sneaking in and getting yourself killed.”

With that, the Winchesters, and The Doctor and his company, along with Holmes and Watson, headed inside.


End file.
